Chronic illness, Fibromyalgia, insomnia

Sorrow and loss – Grief of my former self

I know that I have touched on this a bit already but I haven’t really let go of my “old self” I don’t think I ever will. Not while the ghost of her constantly sits on my shoulder whispering in my ear “The old you would have done this….” The old you would have said this”

“If you were the old you they would have treated you like this, why can’t you be the old you?”

Being ill has taught me a lot about myself and about others. It’s opened my eyes fully, more fully than I ever thought that they could be. On one hand, it has given me incredible insight into how people’s minds work and on the other hand it has helped to cruelly twist the knife further than I thought it could be twisted. By far the cruellest part is finding out who your real friends are. I thought I had a few true friends. Turns out I don’t. Which by the way is extremely painful. Having people one by one just drift away. It’s not only painful once when you realise who is there for you and who isn’t. Each new day the ghost of the “old me” will whisper “Remember when you used to be good friends with? Remember how close you and…..used to be?” All I feel now is isolation, I feel like a big rock in the middle of the sea constantly getting battered and worn by the elements, Relentlessly.

I miss the “old me” but then I realise I must have been living a false life. Because if it had been real I would still have all my friends and my work would have fought to keep me my job. So really when I think about it my old life was fake. Maybe some folk only liked the “old me” and the “new me” they find unpalatable for some reason. I conduct my best performance when I am in public most of the time. I paint the smile on, and do my best to have a laugh and be fun but for some reason, this illness has not only changed me but people’s attitudes towards me. Maybe I should ask? What’s changed? Why am I all of a sudden not important to you anymore? But deep down I already know the answer and my actions speak louder than words and that now more than ever has never been so true. My face says what I can’t say. My presence conveys the hurt underneath that painted-on smile.

I didn’t change. I became ill and your attitude towards me changed.

I didn’t cause it, I didn’t want it, I cannot cure it and I couldn’t prevent it.


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